Ambition

by Yoshiki Tanaka

  The aftereffects of this incident were great. Ofresser was supposed to have been at the head of the pack in despising Reinhard. If even he had turned traitor, who was there among them who could be as faithful and unwavering to the very end? As the nobles exchanged untrusting stares with one another, some of them even began losing faith in themselves …

  At the news of Ofresser’s horrific death, Reinhard’s mood brightened ever so slightly. It was a just reward for a man who had insulted not only himself but also his sister.

  Reinhard named Vice Admiral Dickel commander of Rentenberg Fortress, made it a base for his own forces, and once again set about planning the operations to advance on and attack Gaiesburg.

  Just one aftereffect lingered among Reinhard’s forces. Admirals von Reuentahl and Mittermeier remembered that mountain of corpses in Corridor Six every time they saw fricassee and, for some time after, grew nauseated when it was served.

  At first, Yang had intended to ignore the upheaval in the Shanpool Stellar Region, make straight for Heinessen, and use blitz attacks to pound the main force of the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic into the sand. After all, cut the roots, and the branches and leaves will wither.

  What had caused Yang to change his mind and decide to hit the enemies in the Shanpool Stellar Region first was his realization that through use of guerrilla tactics they could disrupt communications and supply lines between the Yang Fleet and Iserlohn. If he were the Military Congress’s commander for the Shanpool Stellar Region, he would flee when the suppression force came at him and pursue it when it departed so as to strike at its rear and its supply lines. By repeating this pattern as many times as possible, the enemy regiment would be worn down. He wasn’t about to stand for somebody doing that to him.

  “But the enemy’s commander isn’t Yang Wen-li,” said Julian, and asked him if he wasn’t just worrying over nothing.

  To which the dark-haired commander grinned and replied, “He might turn out to be the next Yang Wen-li.”

  After all, everybody started out as a nobody. Who had ever heard of Yang Wen-li before El Facil? Yang said as much to Julian and added: “If this was peacetime, I’d still be a nobody. A historian still gestating in his eggshell—I wouldn’t have even hatched into a chick yet.”

  Yang was speaking of the life that he longed for. In the present day, those who didn’t know his name were on the way to being the minority, yet still Yang couldn’t abandon the wistful desire to be a mere scholar. Praises were being sung about him as a great and undefeated admiral, but to Yang more than anyone, that was just a virtual image projected on a wall by lens and mirror.

  It was his interest in historical figures and events that made Yang want to be a historian. The ridiculous thing to him was that now he himself was becoming an object of interest and research. The Galactic Empire, Phezzan, and his present enemy, the Military Congress for the Rescue of the Republic were all studying Yang’s tactics. Not only that, there were even a number of planets (starting with Heinessen), where books and videos about him were being published, full of irresponsible content and bearing frivolous titles like Studies in Leadership Through the Eyes of Yang Wen-li; Strategic Thought, Tactical Thought: Yang Wen-li’s Four Battles; and Profiles of Modern Genius III: Yang Wen-li.

  The shining modern hero.

  “That Yang Wen-li fellow sure is a great guy. You’re lagging awfully far behind for somebody with the exact same name.” Yang would remark sarcastically like this to his not-even-remotely-great-looking self in the mirror.

  “But you really are a great man,” Julian said fervently.

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Normally, you would surely have lost control of yourself a long time ago, become overconfident, and lost the ability to make objective decisions.”

  Yang had had his head cocked to one side when he’d asked that last question, but now, unexpectedly, he frowned.

  “Don’t tell me that to my face. Feels like I’m gonna slip up and believe you. I’ll be like, ‘Oh really? I’m a great man?’ ”

  After that, he put on his serious face and preached Julian a sermon: You shouldn’t praise those above you to their faces very often. If they’re too soft, you’ll make them conceited and ruin them in the end; and if they’re too hard, they might end up avoiding you ’cause they think you’re trying to curry favor. You have to be cautious …

  “Yes, sir,” said Julian. “I understand.” Yet inwardly, he thought there was something strange about that fretful and uncharacteristically hackneyed lesson.

  Yang had just turned thirty and wasn’t even married yet, but here he was lecturing Julian as if he were his father.

  On the very day that Shanpool fell, Commander Bagdash of the Department of Military Intelligence, having made his escape from Heinessen, arrived by shuttle to meet with Yang. Yang began the attack to retake Shanpool on April 26 and, after three days of combat, liberated it from the rebel forces.

  It was not an especially interesting battle. Unless a planet had a large population and heavy armaments like Heinessen, the landing—or rather, drop—operations had a fixed pattern that didn’t leave a lot of room for commanders to show off their individual styles. First, space supremacy was established in satellite orbit. Then, after destroying the enemy’s antiair radar and air-defense weaponry using spaceborne attacks, the ground troops were shuttled down to the surface under the protection of escort ships and fighter craft capable of atmospheric maneuvers. Finally, coordinating closely with one another, the space- and land-based forces took control of the targeted points.

  Still, it was likely thanks to the outstanding tactical skill of von Schönkopf, commander of the ground battalions, that they were able to conclude the operation in just three days. An ordinary commander might have taken a week or more. Von Schönkopf’s plan had been to secure strategic points using concentrated firepower, then connect them to one another with laterally deployed armored vehicles, forming lines. Then, by advancing those lines, the area under his control would be expanded.

  Later, after that tactic had been in use for a full day, the enemy began to adapt and figure out a way to respond. That was when von Schönkopf suddenly switched to a different attack pattern, making a blitzkrieg straight-line advance on the enemy’s stronghold from one of the points already secured.

  The rebel units were unable to adapt to this sudden change from the lateral to the frontal. Although the leadership barricaded themselves inside buildings of the Alliance Armed Forces’ district command center where they had made their home base, the outcome of the battle was already decided, since they had already been cut off from more than half of their military forces. After two hours of shooting and hand-to-hand combat, Captain Marron, commander of the rebel unit, put his blaster in his mouth and pulled the trigger, and those who remained raised a white flag.

  “Outstanding work,” Yang said, complimenting von Schönkopf upon his return to the flagship Hyperion. He was shocked to see countless lipstick marks all over the face, hands, and uniform of his ground forces commander. He could just picture the wild enthusiasm of the locals after being liberated from more than half a month of living in fear.

  “Well, I’ve got to enjoy the perks,” von Schönkopf said with a grin—and that was the state of affairs when Commander Bagdash made his appearance.

  Once his identity was confirmed, Bagdash was escorted to the bridge right away. Everyone was starving for information from the capital, but the right to ask the first question resided with Yang, who would later occupy the head of the table in the meeting room.

  The question Yang asked as everyone was looking on intently was “Who have they executed?”

  Bagdash replied, “People have been arrested, but at least as of now, there have been no purges. I don’t know what they’ll do in the future, though.”

  “I see …”

  “More importantly, Admi
ral, I’ve come with some intel. The Eleventh Fleet has thrown in with the coup faction and is headed this way as we speak.”

  At this, there was a collective gasp. Yang, saying nothing, motioned for Bagdash to continue.

  “The commander, Vice Admiral Legrange, is apparently hoping for a head-on, straight-up, decisive battle. He won’t be using any tricks.”

  With no particular note of sarcasm, Yang murmured, “Well, thank goodness there will be no tricks,” and opened the floor to his subordinates to ask their questions.

  While being peppered with inquiries from Fischer, Murai, and the rest, Bagdash kept glancing around the room as if he were searching for someone. Finally, he said to Yang in a casual tone:

  “Your aide Lieutenant Greenhill seems to be absent …”

  “Her position being what it is,” Yang said, “I left her back at Iserlohn.”

  “Aagh!”

  Everyone reflexively turned their heads to find that von Schönkopf had spilled coffee all over his chest.

  “Oh well,” he said. “There go my kiss marks … Excuse me for a moment.”

  Maintaining eye contact with Yang as he spoke, von Schönkopf exited the meeting room.

  Julian was standing out in the hallway. Although he lacked the credentials to go inside, he could usually be found somewhere within earshot of Yang.

  “You wouldn’t know where Lieutenant Greenhill is, would you?” asked von Schönkopf.

  “She went to the infirmary,” Julian replied. “She said something about having a headache since this morning … It’s a shame she couldn’t be here.”

  Psychological exhaustion, most likely. With a nod, von Schönkopf headed off toward the infirmary.

  When he tried to enter the infirmary, a petite nurse took one look at his dirty field uniform, vividly colored with lipstick and coffee stains, and came forward, skewering him with a look of outrage.

  “I believe Lieutenant Greenhill’s here.”

  “She is, but you’re not coming in here in that filthy outfit.”

  The nurse, who didn’t even come up to von Schönkopf’s shoulders, stood barring his way with a decisive bearing, but then another voice called out and rescued the commodore from his embarrassment.

  “I don’t mind. Please, Commodore von Schönkopf, come in.”

  The nurse silently let him through, although she didn’t look happy about it.

  Still wearing her uniform, Frederica was lying on a couch, but she stood up right away. Von Schönkopf, wishing silently that he could see her in a dress sometime, briefly explained the situation.

  “… And as for Admiral Yang, he smells something fishy, too. The arrival of escapees these days is just a little too perfectly timed. When the admiral practically said as much, I deliberately spilled coffee on myself and shouted, so Bagdash shouldn’t have seen everyone’s surprised expressions. But I wonder if you might have some idea who he is.”

  “I met Commander Bagdash one time. Five years ago, in my father’s study. He was expressing dissatisfaction with the current political order.”

  Frederica’s reputation for extraordinary powers of memory was widely known.

  “I see. He must have been worried that you would remember something, Lieutenant Greenhill. Seeing as he’s an operative for the coup faction.”

  Apparently, even Admiral Greenhill—the leader of the coup faction—didn’t have all that many people he could count on for a mission like this. The plan was probably to murder Admiral Yang early if Frederica’s memories put Bagdash under suspicion. If such a thing were to happen in the midst of combat with the Eleventh Fleet, the Yang Fleet would be wiped out, and the coup d’état would succeed. Even if Bagdash lost his life, the life of an assassin was a small investment.

  Von Schönkopf cared not a whit whether the Free Planets Alliance was saved or destroyed, but if Yang were to perish, the unfolding of history from that point forward would certainly lose some of its charm. Easily and without reservation, von Schönkopf made a decision.

  It was just before dinner when Yang asked von Schönkopf, “Is Commander Bagdash coming?”

  “He’s sleeping now.”

  “Did you do something to him?” Yang’s tone suggested that he foresaw the answer.

  Von Schönkopf winked and said, “I used a special sleeping agent. He shouldn’t open his eyes for the next two weeks. With military intelligence types, even if you lock them up, you can never let your guard down as long as they’re awake. It’s best we have him sleep until this next battle is over.”

  “Thanks for your hard work.” Yang’s words of gratitude came mingled with a wry smile.

  II

  Under these tense circumstances, the calendar turned to May. The Eleventh Fleet was steadily closing a distance of more than three thousand light-years of interstellar space. On this point, the veracity of Bagdash’s intelligence had been confirmed.

  Yang brought his fleet forward as far as the Doria system, where it spent its days collecting and analyzing intelligence. On May 10, a destroyer that had gone out to reconnoiter as far as the approaching Elgon system discovered the presence of a large fleet of warships. After sending out an emergency transmission, its communications broke off. Although it was still the eve of the battle, the first sacrifice had been made. Yang’s mind was racing from one thing to another. He felt confident that they could win even in a head-on clash, but he was waiting on a certain report to come in from reconnaissance ships he had concealed at strategic points throughout this vast region of space. If the Yang Fleet didn’t win this fight quickly and thoroughly, it would only become harder to lop off all the tentacles of this conspiracy.

  On May 18, Julian brought the twentieth report of the day to Yang, who was walking around in circles in his private rooms. The other nineteen that had arrived so far lay wadded up on the floor. Listlessly, Yang lowered his gaze to the text of the report.

  “I knew it!” he said suddenly. “This is it!”

  The young, dark-haired commander leapt up and shouted, tossed the report up toward the ceiling, grabbed both hands of a dumbfounded Julian, and started dancing around the room with him. As Julian was being slung this way and that, he had a sudden realization and cried out in a loud voice, “Excellency! We can win this, can’t we? We can win this!”

  “You bet we can win it! ‘Yang Wen-li doesn’t fight hopeless battles!’ Isn’t that right?”

  That was when he heard the sound of someone clearing his throat. Yang stopped dancing and looked toward where the sound had come from. Three people—von Schönkopf, Frederica Greenhill, and Fischer—were staring at their commander.

  Yang let go of Julian’s hands and reached up to straighten his disheveled hair—at some point, his beret had gone flying off as well.

  “Good news,” he said. “The plan is decided. It’s looking like we’re gonna be able to win this somehow.”

  After receiving the data he had been waiting for, Yang had planned the operation in a shockingly brief amount of time. The operations plan that he shared with his entire force thirty minutes later was as follows, with the first point being the content of the report that he had been waiting for:

  1. The enemy has divided its forces into two units. We believe they intend a pincer movement, in which one unit, taking advantage of being eclipsed by the star Doria, will try to attack us on our port flank, while the other will take a detour to our rear and try to hit our aft starboard.

  2. To counter this, our forces, acting six hours ahead of the enemy, will take advantage of their divided state to destroy the units individually. First we will strike the unit circling around to our aft, then we will deal with the attack on our port flank.

  3. The operation will commence today at 2200 with Admiral Nguyen Van Thieu leading the charge. We will cross the orbit of the seventh planet and take position in that region of space, with the star Doria at o
ur backs.

  4. Rear Admiral Fischer will command our rear guard unit, which will maintain position until 0400 on the following day. Afterward, he will cross the orbit of the sixth planet and deploy his forces there to respond to enemies planning to attack our port flank. However, care must be taken to avoid detection by enemy reconnaissance and intelligence-gathering vessels, so this unit must not change its position or alert status until 0400 of the following day.

  5. The other combat groups will follow Admiral Nguyen Van Thieu and position themselves to the port, starboard, and aft of the designated coordinates.

  6. Admiral Attenborough will command the gunship and missile ship regiments, position them in orbit around the seventh planet, and, in addition to securing the communications route between our forces and Iserlohn Fortress, provide early warning of long-range attacks originating from other star systems. Furthermore, they will prevent fleeing enemy forces from escaping to other star systems.

  7. Commander Yang will personally lead the central combat group.

  When these orders from Commander Yang were transmitted, a thrill of tension and excitement shot through the entire fleet.

  “Recently when I traveled to Heinessen,” Yang told his staff in the meeting room later, “I received written orders from His Excellency Admiral Bucock, commander in chief of the space armada, telling me that in the event of a revolt, I was to put it down and restore law and order. In other words, I’ve received legal justification for what we’re about to do. This is no private war.”

  Hearing Yang’s words in the meeting room, his staff officers were left speechless at the scope of their commander’s foresight. Of course, Yang himself was in a bit of a sour mood. After all, even if his predictions had been correct, they hadn’t been able to prevent this present state of affairs. That was what Yang and Bucock had been hoping for that night on those park benches in the city back on Heinessen.